The Worst Way
by katierosefun
Summary: When Peter Parker is kidnapped, Tony Stark makes a promise. Years later, Peter Parker wished Tony hadn't ever made that promise in the first place.


Peter didn't know where he was. Just that one minute, he had been walking out of his school, and the next minute, pain jolted up his spine, and in the next minute, darkness. HE had only remembered smelling some strong cleaning product—bleach—before going under. And that smell of bleach now invaded Peter's senses, stinging his nostrils and the roof of his mouth.

"He's awake." A woman's voice. Something thudded against Peter's shoulder, and he couldn't hide his wince. "Come on, kid. No use in trying to fall back asleep. No use in trying to break free, either—we've developed a solution to tamp down your strength."

Peter opened his eyes slowly and instantly closed them, his vision swimming with green dots at the sudden shine of a fluorescent light. Then, blinking his eyes a few more times, Peter managed to make out a dark figure standing in front of him. The person held a gun, and the face was covered with a ski-mask, and if it hadn't been for the fact that Peter's body felt so heavy, he would have jumped.

"There we are," the woman's voice said, and Peter turned his head in time to see another dark figure circling around him. "How are we feeling, Spider-Man? Or, should I say, Mr. Parker? Which title do you usually prefer?"

Peter's heart sank. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Save your breath," the woman said, crouching down next to Peter. "We've known your identity for ages now. It was just a matter of time before we finally got ahold of you."

Peter swallowed. "I don't know who you think I am," he said, not having to feign the tremble in his voice. "But this is a mistake."

"Is it?" The woman let out a small laugh, causing a shiver to run down Peter's back. She stood up and reached behind her. Peter flinched, but when she pulled out her hand, Peter found himself looking only at a phone screen.

"Look," the woman said, and Peter's heart plunged further as he watched a grainy video of himself coming out of the Compound, stuffing his Spider-Man suit in his backpack. Peter bit down on the inside of his cheek. "Doesn't that look a bit too much like you?"

Peter swallowed, trying to find the right words, but before he could, the woman slammed Peter's head down against the ground. Pain shot through Peter's skull, but he couldn't even make a sound, not as he felt something wet slowly slide down his forehead. The ground blurred underneath Peter. The only thing he could actually make out was a small pebble sitting a little ways from him. Peter closed his eyes, trying to stop the spinning otherwise.

"Is the camera ready?" the woman asked from somewhere above Peter.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

Peter only barely started to lift his head when he felt something cold settle against the back of his skull. He heard the distant beep of a camera, and then he heard the woman clear her throat.

"Mr. Stark," she said. "So glad you found my message." The cold at the back of Peter's head dug deeper. "As you can see, we have a certain friend of yours. My men have already delivered the ransom note, but in case you needed reminding—give us one of the suits, and we'll hand Peter Parker over. If not…" The cold pressed into the back of Peter's head, and this time, a cry escaped Peter's lips before he could stop it. "You'll find him in a ditch."

With that, there was another beep, signaling that the recording must be finished.

"Get up," the woman snarled, and Peter felt hands rip him back up into a sitting position. "We'll hear back from Stark soon, I suspect," the woman said, tracing a finger over Peter's cheek. Peter tried to tug his head away—the way he had seen in the movies—but his head felt too heavy, and the pain in his head was too strong.

The woman smiled. "Let's see how long it'll take Mr. Stark, shall we?"

Peter wanted to open his mouth to tell her that was wasting her time—that Tony wouldn't give over the suit for anything, but the woman's form only blurred, and Peter let the darkness swallow him.

* * *

"He's still not here."

"He'll come—give him time."

"What if we got the wrong guy?"

"It's him. There can't be anyone else."

Peter opened his eyes slowly. The woman and man were standing in front of him, ski-masks still on. Peter opened his mouth, but all that came out was a short cough. His throat and mouth felt dry, which didn't help the spinning in his head or the blurring room in front of him.

"Awake again, are we?" the woman said, walking towards Peter. She placed a hand over Peter's head, causing him to wince as another needle of red pain went through him. "What a strong soldier." She shook Peter's head, and he heard a groan that he knew could only be coming from him.

"Poor baby," the woman said in mock sympathy. "Must be difficult, waiting for Stark." She tapped her fingers lightly against Peter's forehead, only just barely smearing the blood near his hairline. "You better hope he comes quick."

Peter managed to lift his eyes up at the woman. She was still smiling, and even though Peter couldn't see the rest of her face, he could just imagine the pleased look she must be wearing. Still, Peter only managed to say, "You're wrong" before the woman pressed something against his mouth, and he was down under again.

* * *

Peter woke to the sound of screaming.

And then a loud gunshot, another gunshot, and then a series of shots that seemed to ricochet around Peter's skull.

And then, Peter heard heavy footfalls all around him. Felt something cold settle on his head, followed by a loud, "Come any closer with that thing, and I'll blow his brains out! I'll—" But the rest of those words were drowned out by a loud scream, and then Peter felt something wet settle over the top hifs head.

And then there were more footfalls, and then someone was shouting his name, but Peter couldn't open his eyes, not now.

"Got you, kid," he only heard a familiar voice say. "Hold on."

Peter managed to crack his eyes open, and though he was almost sure he was imagining things, he saw Tony's face swimming above him.

"Mr. Stark," Peter only mumbled, and he couldn't keep his eyes open for any longer.

* * *

When Peter woke up, he was in a white room. Medical, with white sheets and white walls and a window that faced large pine trees. And next to him sat Tony, dark shadows under his eyes but awake.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter whispered. He hadn't meant to whisper, but a whisper was all that could come out. He swallowed. "Where—"

"Compound," Tony replied. "We had to get you out fast." His eyes searched Peter's face. "Do you remember anything?"

Peter closed his eyes. "The woman. A ma," he said weakly "Head hurt. A lot." His eyes snapped open. "They knew I was Spider-Man." He looked at Tony, panic building into his voice as he repeated, "They _know, _Mr. Stark." He waited for Tony to react, to stand up, but he didn't do either. Instead, Tony only reached for what Peter just noticed was sa glass of water sitting next to him.

"Here," Tony said, passing the glass to Peter. "You sound like you've been eating sand for a weak."

Peter took the glass, but he didn't drink. "Did you hear me?" he asked, stunned. "They know about me."

"Don't worry," Tony replied. "I took care of it." And Tony said it so tersely, so brikskly, that Peter almost didn't register the words. Almost.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

"I mean that I took care of it," Tony replied. He nodded at the glass in Peter's hand. "Drink."

Peter lifted the glass to his lips. He meant to take only one sip, but that one sip turned to downing the entire glass. "What do you mean?" he repeated, turning the glass over in his hands. "What did you do?"

"I made sure they'd stay quiet," Tony replied. Peter looked over at him, and Tony's eyes skirted away. "They won't be telling anyone anything."

Peter stared. His mouth felt dryer than ever, despite the fact that he had just had water. "Do you mean that you…" He swallowed. "Did you kill them?"

When Tony didn't respond right away, Peter said in a small voice, "Mr. Stark? Did you?"

"What do you want me to say, Peter?" Tony asked, lifting his head up at Peter, and Peter stopped short. Tony's face had gone rigid, his jaws locked. The only movement was the slightest trembling in Tony's hand, and when Peter looked down at it, Tony forced his hand onto his lap. "They had you at gunpoint, Peter. They weren't kidding around. It was either them or you, and I sure as hell wasn't about to choose them."

Peter didn't respond—because he couldn't, not with Tony staring at him as though he might fall through the floorboards any second.

Tony drew in a shaky breath. _Shaky. _"You could have died," he said. "I wasn't going to let that happen."

Peter swallowed again. "I'm sorry," he said, because he didn't know what else to say.

But Tony was shaking his head. "I shouldn't have let it happen," he said. "That shouldn't have—" And Tony's voice shook along with the rest of him, and Peter sat up, ignoring the rush of dizziness that came along with the sudden movement.

"Mr. Stark," Peter said quietly. He slowly pushed away his blankets, ad at the ruffle of cloth, Tony stood up.

"No, don't," Tony said, and he pulled the blankets back over Peter. "You need to rest."

"And you need to know this wasn't your fault," Peter replied. Tony's hand paused over the blankets. Peter looked up at Tony. "Mr. Stark?" He whispered. Tony still wasn't looking at him. "This wasn't your fault." And he wished those words to sink into Tony's head, to somehow root themselves and steady the shaking for him, but when Tony met Peter's eyes, he had the sinking feeling that it would be a long time before those words could take any effect.

"I won't let it happen again," was all Tony said. "I promise, kid. Not on my watch."

* * *

And as Peter watched the wreath of flowers float away on the lake, he couldn't help but think of the determined look on Tony's face when he had made that promise.

"He loved you, you know," Pepper had said before. She had hugged Peter, and Peter had just rested his forehead against her shoulder, because he didn't want to look at anyone. Because whenever anyone looked at Peter, he'd see the sympathetic look in their eyes, and even though Peter knew that everyone was grieving, he hated knowing that his grief was more explicit, less shielded.

And as Peter watched the wreath of flowers float away on the lake, Peter closed his eyes and wished for a shield, wished he could take back Tony's promise.

Because if this was Tony's way of making sure that Peter wouldn't get hurt again, Peter decided that this was the worst way of doing it.

* * *

**A/N: **_Written for whumptober #5, 'gunpoint'. I didn't think I was going to bring Endgame into this, but I felt the story leading me that way, so here we are. I was also originally going to post this a few days ago, but I was away over the weekend, and I didn't have access to the Internet. Hopefully planning to catch up with the rest of the prompts!_

_As always, reviews/constructive criticism are always appreciated!_


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